


Jazz

by TickledGiraffe



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-01
Updated: 2014-12-01
Packaged: 2018-02-27 15:39:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2698235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TickledGiraffe/pseuds/TickledGiraffe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Laura, aka DJ Silas, is thrown from her element when she finds herself at a high brow Karnstein party. Carmilla helps her out with a little bit of music.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jazz

Carmilla had never been a fan of the thundering beats at clubs. The dancing of the modern age was much too scandalous for her pseudo-Victorian sensibilities and the alcohol was much too bland for her refined palate, but she still came to the same club every Tuesday night, never missing her favorite DJ’s set.   
The attractive blonde in the elevated booth was always focused on her music, though, gauging the reactions of her crowd and mixing in new tracks with a smug little smile. She seemed at ease and at home up in her booth, and Carmilla wanted to meet her.

 

The first time the girl caught Carmilla’s eye was when her friend (a loosely used term) Brody dragged her to the club to pick up some ‘hotties’. According to the big puppy, Carmilla’s broody, aloof attitude made her the perfect wingman. She always scoffed at the ‘compliment’.   
That night, however, she had to thank her large friend. He showed her beauty and grace personified in the woman she knew only as DJ Silas. As a result, Carmilla spent an embarrassing amount time on the internet trying to find out anything she could about the elusive woman, but nothing was uncovered. DJ Silas remained a mystery. 

 

Every Tuesday night since, Carmilla had returned to the dingy club, showing up just as the set started, leaving as soon as it was over, completely transfixed by the woman in the booth. But one Tuesday, her mother called.   
Another boring socialite gathering her mother had strong armed her into attending, leaving Carmilla actually missing the loud beats and sensual dances and bland beers. The classical band was stale. Her polite movements were dull. The wine… well she couldn’t actually complain about the wine. But her mother decided to make the night worse.   
As dinners were carried away from guests, Carmilla’s mother called her up to the stage, seating her at the ebony piano. Polite grin in place, the woman allowed her fingers to dance over the keys, sounding a classical medley of the highest class, fitting right in with the long gowns and elaborate hairdos of the women present and the stiff suits and tight ties of the men.   
One woman in the crows caught her attention. She wasn’t graceful or elegant, definitely not comfortable in this setting. Her dress was slightly too long, her heels a little too high for her to manage, and her mannerisms were awkward and loud compared to the polite nature of the party. Her hair was slightly moussed from what could have easily been headphones.  
Carmilla assumed the culprit was, in fact, headphones. Bulky black ones that would leave her deaf to the world. Probably ones with little purple lights on them. Carmilla had seen them on the woman before, as she towered about the club, playing mash-up after mash-up of whatever drivel was popular. She was DJ Silas.   
Carmilla’s polite smile became a vicious smirk as she made the connection, and she adjusted her posture on the bench. Her long dancing fingers transitioned from their polite waltz to an upbeat tune, the sounds of jazz filling the hall. As people began to sway and loosen their ties, the DJ appeared more and more comfortable, her gaze making its way to Carmilla.   
The two locked eyes, and Carmilla switched tunes again, offering a wink. The jazz flowed seamlessly into a modern song, one the DJ had exposed her to. They wore matching grins as the crowd politely moved along to the new song, and when Carmilla ended her performance, she was met with quiet applause, one woman louder than the rest of the crowd combined.   
The pianist made her way through the socialites, accepting thanks and praise as she searched for the DJ. Carmilla was more than shocked to find herself literally running into the woman. She was much shorter than expected.   
The blonde was full of rushed apologies mixed with scattered compliments, and Carmilla had to stifle a giggle. She rested a hand on the other girl’s shoulder, calming her slightly. “It’s okay, cupcake. I’m pretty sure I ran into you. You’re not easy to spot, you know.”   
That earned her a glare, but there was no fire behind it, more of a depressed acceptance. The blonde gathered herself, raising to her admittedly unimpressive height. Her glare faded into a grin. “You were really great up there.”   
Carmilla smiled and stepped forward, bringing the DJ close as a waltz began to play. “Thank you…” She trailed off, question hanging.  
“Laura. Laura Hollis. My dad is the head of security. Our hostess was kind enough to extend an invitation to me and lend this dress for the night.” Their waltz was somewhat awkward, Laura a bit off balance, not nearly as graceful as Carmilla had once thought. The length of the dress made more sense as Carmilla examined it, recognizing it as a piece from her own closet. With a smile, she continued the conversation.   
“My mother can be a kind woman. And she always has been a sucker for Cinderella stories.” The brunette spun her partner away, then twisted her back, bringing her closer than before.   
“She seems to think my brother Will is a Prince Charming.” She jerked her head in the direction of the snack table, where the aforementioned brother stood, chatting with a high brow blonde.   
“If you ask me, he is closer to the kind of sleazy figures you don’t see in Disney movies.” Laura let out a small giggle as she struggled to keep her balance.   
“What are you then?” Carmilla thought a moment, lazily stepping through the waltz.   
“I guess I would fit in with the Aristocats. And you, DJ Silas, are much more of Tom O’Malley than a Cinderella.” Her smile assured the shorter girl that the comment was a compliment indeed, and Laura blushed accordingly.   
“You know about that, huh?” Carmilla shrugged.  
“I usually come to your sets. It is better than the other riff raff your co-workers play.” The song slowed, coming to an end, and Laura escorted Carmilla off the dance floor.   
With a crooked, half smile, Laura placed a kiss on her dance partner’s cheek. “Well, I’ll keep an eye out for you next Tuesday then.”

 

While Carmilla hung around the bar the following week, she was more than happy to note a change in Laura’s normal song choice. Weaved into the modern pop tunes, she could hear the barest hints of classical jazz


End file.
